


All Things Considered

by MagicEye



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Chivalry, F/M, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Intimacy, Intoxication, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 20:58:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17946989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicEye/pseuds/MagicEye
Summary: Flynn Fairwind offers to walk Taelia home after a night of celebratory drinking.





	All Things Considered

Taelia’s arm was warm where it was linked through his. He could feel its heat even through the thick sleeve of his coat as they staggered home together, arm in arm, towards Boralus’ trade district. She was laughing about something or another from earlier, her raven hair bobbing loosely as she threw her head back, guffawing. He felt as if the night had revealed a new side of her—Taelia, so often focused and driven, seemed freer and feistier than usual. Her feet criss-crossed in front of her, belying her drunkenness, and he would have teased her for it were he not also swaying with each step. 

Passing under a streetlight, Flynn sees the gleam in her eyes as she recounts the finer details of the night. They’d spent it at one of Boralus’ more questionable bars—the Admiralty had had some great victory earlier in the day and the unanimous opinion on Kul Tiras was that any such triumph called for strong drinks. Taelia had invited him along when he mentioned his lack of plans for the night, and he reluctantly accepted. He was foggy on the details of what exactly had happened to merit the occasion, but welcomed any excuse to get drunk, especially if Cyrus was paying.

They’d been at the bar for the past, what—2 hours? 3? Flynn squinted, picking his vague memory. Either way, it had been enough time for all of them to get decidedly more drunk than intended. After the last round, Taelia had accepted his slurred offer of walking her home (“could be dangerous sirens hiding in Dampwick Ward,” he’d said jokingly. “What? You never know.”).

All of a sudden, it seemed, they arrived at the harbormaster’s office. Taelia struggled with the keyring for a minute or so, jamming the key’s tip senselessly against the lock before mumbling “oh,” and turning it the other way. The lock defeated, she stepped inside, and Flynn followed without thinking. He actually had been staying in a rented room a few doors down, but the thought of going back to the empty place was rather depressing after a night of companionship, and he was drunk enough not to care about being polite. 

Taelia stood unsteadily next to him for a moment before shrugging off her bags and weapon, letting them fall with a thump to the stone floor. He watched quietly from the door as she crossed the room and waveringly lit a sconce on the wall. At once, he noticed the way the flickering light fell across her face and hair, carving dark shadows into the hollows under her eyes and delicate cheeks. His tongue was surprisingly dry as he adjusted it within his mouth. 

“So,” he said, watching her shake out the match. “there you go. Home, safe and sound.”

Taelia squinted at him, as if remembering his presence, then cracked a lopsided little smile. “Right. Thank you, sir Flynn. You are,” she paused, holding back a giggle-- “quite the honorable man.” 

He shrugged in lack of a response. Taelia was distracting him, truth be told. Under the low light, he was seeing her differently: the way her dark eyes gleamed under their heavy lids, the defined muscles in her lithe arms, the way she looked when she laughed, her slender hands, the swell of her breasts under her chestguard… he caught himself looking and quickly turned away, not wanting to leer. 

The alcohol had to have been fogging his brain. Taelia, of all people? Sure, she was a sharp young woman, and pretty too-- beautiful, even—but they weren’t much more than acquaintances. He shook his head, trying to regain some semblance of mental clarity, but only succeeded in making himself dizzy. And Taelia was looking at him now, in that questioning way of hers that made her so charming to him and such a nightmare for Cyrus. 

The eye contact made him nervous, as if she could hear what he’d been thinking. He decided it was a good time to take an ample interest in the lines on the floor. 

“Are you all right, Flynn?” her voice is clear and bright as always, but with a slurry edge that can only be attributed to intoxication. He’s certain he sounds the same, if not worse, when he answers.

“M’ all right.” 

“You’re,” she stops to gather herself for a moment, then begins again, a little smile teasing the edge of her mouth. “You’re sw… you’re swaying.”

And so he is. He grunts in affirmation and throws out a hand to steady himself against the stone wall. Truth be told, he doesn’t care—he’s caught up in the way Taelia’s hair flickers like Drust magic in the low firelight. She keeps looking at him with those big dark eyes, silhouetted by the fireplace with a surreality that can most definitely be attributed to the alcohol. The world churns around him for a moment, and only Taelia stays grounded, like she’s anchored to his reality in a way that the rest of the world is not. _Reliable Taelia,_ he thinks. _Beautiful Taelia._

“Flynn,” she says again, “are you really doing all right?” Despite the unevenness of her voice, there’s a distinct concern present. _Kind Taelia._

He blinks. He’s been staring again, he knows. He rubs a sheepish finger over his mustache. 

“Yes, Taelia. I’m just, ah,” he states eloquently. Her eyelashes are long enough to cast a shadow over her cheeks. “I’m…” where was that snappy persona when he needed it? He feels like a drunken fool, swiping a big hand through his hair and tousling it in a very obvious display of nerves. 

He tries to think up a cocky one-liner. He tries to exude the same cool confidence that the roguish Flynn Fairwind is known for. He attempts to summon the side of himself that the Champion sees, the cool-as-a-cucumber demeanor that works so well to deflect personal questions. He tries to maintain any sense of dignity.  
But Taelia is drawing closer to him, and he’s lost in the glide of her steps, the turn of her waist; all the subtle little details about Taelia that he’s never acknowledged before. The way her earrings glint in the firelight, her intelligent eyes flash-- how has he never noticed? 

And then her hand is upon his arm, and the drunk little conductor in his drunk little train of thought careens over the edge of a canyon. He balks.

She’s trying to help steady him, he realizes, and he’s a bit embarrassed. Flynn Fairwind, boozehound extraordinaire, can’t handle his drinks as well as the small-framed woman in front of him. Where her hand rests on his arm, it feels like there is a live current passing between them.

“Taelia,” he manages, and her name hangs in the air with all the latent power of a word used to invoke an ancient ritual. It suits her. 

“Flynn,” she shoots back playfully, just a bit too fast. “You looked like you could use a hand.” There’s evidence of a smile in her eyes, and he foresees friendly teasing in his future.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. The interaction is a bit awkward, but amicable enough, and he uses her proximity as an excuse to get a good look at her face. She really does have an intelligent, inquisitive look to her: high cheekbones, a slightly hooked nose that he finds incredibly charming, dark eyebrows that arch neatly over the rest of her slim face…. all of it thrown into delightful contrast by the low light in the room. He’s just staring openly now—and, with a twinge of anxious excitement, he realizes she’s meeting his gaze, her face shrouded in a cryptic expression. 

Her expression snaps him back to reality, and he’s suddenly anxious. Here he had offered to walk Taelia home politely, and he’d overstayed his welcome. She shouldn’t have to be looking after him. Truth be told, the thought was humiliating. She must be irritated with his presence—why wouldn’t she be? He was being incredibly rude. As he mentally curses himself, she still doesn't speak, but simply watches him with a keen expression. Her face is entirely unreadable. 

And then all at once Taelia’s mouth is against his, hot and messy and undignified as she presses impossibly close. It’s impulsive and uncoordinated and lasts for just a moment before she pulls back to sigh out a wavering breath that he feels all the way down to his toes.

**Author's Note:**

> as with all of my half-finished fics, i'm chipping away at this very slowly. please leave a comment with feedback, if you are so inclined :-)


End file.
